After being blinded in a chemical accident in the Israeli army, Zohar Sharon’s life fell apart. But picking up a golf club changed his life. He is now one of the best blind golfers in the world. Find out how Zohar mastered the world’s most difficult game without ever seeing a course.

Did you hear the one about the blind Israeli golfer who walks into a bar? This may sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but it’s reality. Zohar Sharon, winner of the 2003 World Invitational blind golf tournament in Scotland, takes a window seat at a restaurant and pub inside Morgan Run, a posh golf club and resort in North County’s Fairbanks Ranch.

Sharon sits by the window of the clubhouse sipping coffee with a huge grin on his face , even though he’s just finished playing one of the most grueling rounds of golf a player could experience, with sight or without.

It’s the end of a dreary mid-winter Tuesday. Only on a handful of days a year does San Diego experience weather more mindful of Oregon than SoCal. This is one of those days. For the last three hours, Sharon and his entourage braved bone-chilling dampness and stinging frequent downpours.

Flash back 25 years. While on an army demolitions detail, Sharon lost sight in his right eye after a chemical substance was accidentally sprayed in his fa ce. Three years later, he lost his remaining sight forever while driving with his first wife, who had to take the wheel when Sharon’s left eye rapidly filled with blood. Severe depression, and eventually divorce from his wife, followed.

But now he’s a successful golfer and an accomplished painter and sculptor who has exhibited his works in galleries and exhibitions. After he went blind, he also became a trained physiotherapist. He never golfed before going blind. He’s only been serious about the game for three by Judd Handler years. Now, he wins golf tournaments playing against people with sight.

He claims to regularly hit 100, but that’s a bit of an exaggeration – his handicap at the Scottish World Invitational was 37, good for an average round of 109. He won his category (B1 , for completely blind) at the Tournament by 20 strokes; he would have been first even without his handicap. Next up? The World Blind Golf Championships in Melbourne, Australia, in April.

Sharon lives near downtown Tel Aviv and is 51. If he could see, he’d take in the view of Morgan Run’s first few holes, darkening at dusk under ominous looking cumulonimbus clouds. Benign puffy white clouds retreat northwestward, running away from a jagged squall line, signaling the arrival of a cold front that sends San Diegans seeking shelter and causing rush-hour traffic to come to a hyper-defensive stand-still.

Sharon’s golden-brown skin tone reveals his Yemeni ethnicity. With his receding hairline, athletic figure and barking intensity, Sharon possesses the type A personality of an Israeli colonel (he actually served five years as an officer in the army, after his compulsory three-year stint.). You can’t tell he’s blind. He’s not wearing dark sunglasses and his eyes aren’t an eerie void of translucent glassiness; they are a solid brown that often have an uncanny ability to pierce deeply through the eyes of the person he’s talking to, as if he could see their soul.

Sharon, who is one of an estimated 100 competitive totally blind golfers worldwide, doesn’t speak English well, not since he went blind. He says he sometimes experiences flashes where he’ll recall some English words.

Sitting at the table to Sharon’s left at the clubhouse are a father and son tandem, Rafael and Jorge Mareyna . both Mexican Jews who until the last decade li\·ed in Mexico City. They are Sharon’s friendly competition for the day. Also seated is a Canadian Jew, Nitsan Watkin, who for the next week will serve as Sharon’s interpreter and caddy. even though he doesn’t know much about golf.

Seared at the foot of Sharon’s right leg is Dylan, a 3 1/2-year-old Israeli-born golden retriever. Dyla n is Sharon’s guide dog. He has had the day off running around wild at Morgan Run. Trained at the Israeli Guide Dog Center for the Blind, Dylan loyally sprints after and chomps up Sharon’s infrequent errant drives.

This is Sharon’s first golf outing in the U.S., where he’s come to help raise money for the Israel Guide Dog Center. He’s also practicing for a charity event in Palm Springs (held February 9) that raised an estimated $125,000 for the Center and other charities.

Sharon’s first introduction to golf came when the divorce lawyer of his first wife presented him with a putter and some balls. In the mid-1980s, a golf rehabilitation program was developed for disabled Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) veterans. According to the Israeli daily Ha ‘aretz, Sharon is one of 20 or so veterans who have participated in this project.

The Superman-strength of Sharon’s spirit and the encouragement and help from his San Diego hosts made this a memorable day on an othe rwise miserable afternoon that kept all but a couple hardcore golfers off the greens. Nobody kvetched once about the cold or the rain, nor even 73-year-old Rafael. who had a stroke three months ago and was wearing a meager shortsleeved windbreaker, no proper dress for his exposed lean and pale frame. Rafael. who is a member of Morgan Run, doesn’t speak Hebrew and therefore can’t directly communicate with Sharon.

Rafael’s son Jorge learned Hebrew after living in Israel for five years (he also speaks fluent Spanish and English). He has been living in San Diego for a year and a half and plays surprisingly well for having only six months of golfing experience. The physical antithesis of his father, Jorge. 52 and a CPA/financial advisor, stands several inches shorter and has a pudgy frame.

“San Diego is a special place,” Sharon tells the Journal. “It’s made a good first impression on me. even with the weather we’ve had today.” But how can Sharon appreciate the aesthetic qualities of the beach and the sea cliffs, or the roll ing hills and giant palm trees that are the backdrop of Morgan Run? ‘·My friends describe the scenery to me whenever I go to a new place. I can imagine it in my mind,” says Sharon.

“The people here are ve1y courteous,” Sharon continues, “and the greens behave much differently he re than in Israel. They are faster and have a much better quality of grass to them.” Sharon says in Israel, where he recently won a golf tournament at his country club in Caesarea , the greens are much tougher and coarse.

Sharon says he plays golf six times a week, often 10 hours a day. The only day he takes off from the game is on Saturday. He’s religiously obsetvant. He’s not wearing a yarmulke on this day, but always does so when he’s in a tournament or playing with non-Jewish golfers. “I want people to know I’m jewish,” he says. “I want them to know what jewish perseverance and courage is all about.”

Backtrack three hours ago. The skies are beginning to clear from a stubborn rain shower. Sharon is eager to play after waiting 45 minutes for the rain to ease. “Nu, boy nesachek gvar!’ (“Come on, let’s play already! “) Sharon says. Sharon travels in one golf cart with Watkin, a Toronto resident and family friend of Sharon’s. Throughout the afternoon, Sharon and Watkin will intermittently argue and laugh hysterically.

In the cart ahead of Sharon and Watkin are the Mareynas, soft-spoken, well-mannered gentleman who speak Spanish to each other and on more than a few occasions yell words of encouragement to Sharon.

Approaching the first hole, the elder Mareyna gives the scouting report to Sharon’s interpreter. “Zohar, the first hole is 180 yards away. It’s a par 3. If you hit it too low, you’ll get it stuck in the d1y grass. Hit it high and straight. There are two sandtraps 50 yards from the hole on both sides of the flag. ” Sharon approaches the tee and has Watkin help him lean over to feel the ball.

Watkin painstakingly tries to line up Sharon. Sharon constantly questions Watkin about positioning. Watkin’s lack of golf knowledge frustrates Sharon, who possesses a fierce competitive intensity. “Am I lined up straight? Should I swing open or closed?” Sharon asks.

Sharon takes a couple of practice swings and again asks Watkin if he’s properly aligned. Watkins tells him he’s ready to go. Sharon looks up in the direction of the flag as if he could see. It’s easy to forget he’s blind.

Ze haya yamina, nachon?’ (“That went wide right, correct?”) Sharon asks. He not only knows the direction of his shots, he can tell the fate of the other golfer’s swings by the sound of their drives.

On his next approach, Sharon is informed that he’s about 20 meters away from the hole. He doubts Watkin’s estimate. “Really, 20 meters?” he asks, looking Watkins right in the eye. Watkins answers him while looking down at the ground.

Watkin has the toughest assignment of the clay. He is Sharon’s surrogate caddy for the first five holes; he later gladly relinquishes the role to Jorge. Sharon’s full-time sa laried caddy is named Shimshon Levy, who doesn’t speak English vety well either and couldn’t attend Sharon’s fi rst U.S. golf visit.

Now on the green, Sharon instructs \V’atkin to stand next to the flag and clap so he can judge by the sound how far away he is. On other holes, one of the other golfers taps the flag with their putters.

Golf is a frustrating game for people who can see. Imagine how it must be for a blind golfer. When Sharon sinks a putt as he does on the first hole, it’s nothing short of miracu lous.

According to Ha’aretz, soon after starting to play, Sharon began working with Dr. Rica rdo Cordova, a sports psychologist in Israel. Cordova. who was the psychologist for the Bolivian national soccer team before migrating to Israel, instilled in Sharon the ability to imagine each shot.

Here’s what Cordova did with Sharon: For several weeks, Sharon didn’t even swing with his clubs. The two worked solely on visualization and biomechanics. Towels were placed under Sharon’s arms to restrict his arm movement and keep them within close proximity to his trunk. Cordova made sure Sharon’s motion didn’t involve unnecessary muscle groups.

Next, Cordova had Sharon practicing his swinging motion – still without the use of his clubs. Sharon would take imaginary swings and relay to Cordova how far the ball flew in the air and how far it rolled in his mind. The third stage of Sharon’s training invo lved pain . Cordova lined up the ball next to a pole. If Sharon’s head and torso excessively protruded during his backswing, his skull would receive an uncomfortable reminder from the pole.

By the time Cordova allowed Sharon to swing at a ball approximately two years ago, Sharon found it quite easy to drive the ball far distances. His blindness allows him to e nter a trance-like state whe re he imagines every shot and considers all inclines declines and other ha zards that lay on the course.”

“Sharon considers golf to be a highly spiritual game,” says Watkin, walking back to the cart in route to the second hole. “He feels absolute peace and tranquility when he’s playing, even if he’s frustrated by an inexperienced caddy. ,. Watkin continues, “Zohar’s concentration is tremendo us. He forgets everything when he ‘s on the green.”

Sharon puts his putter back in his golf bag, which is attached to the back of the ca rt. He puts the covers back on his clubs and readjusts the tightness of the bag’s straps. This reporter knocked his head twice getting into the cart, while Sharon ente rs the ca rt and moves around the golf bag with ease.

A friendly argument ensues between Sharon and Watkin, evide ntly about Watkin’s lack of golf knowledge. Dylan the guide dog is tied to the golf ca rt. He has his rear left leg lifted, relieving himself on the golf ca rt’s tire. Suddenly, Watkin steps on the cart ‘s accelerator. Dylan manages to turn around on a dime and sprint, keeping up with the cart.

Before playing the second hole, Sharon is asked if Dylan is forbidden to run around the course without a leash .

“Ata tishmor al lo?’ (“Are you going to watch him?”) Sha ron asks, undoing Dylan’s leash. And with that, Dylan is free to roam around Morgan Ru n. While Sharon is mentally picturing his approach for the seco nd hole, Dylan is digging a hole in a sandtrap.

Sharon’s second drive goes beyond the flag, only 20 yards away.

“Keemat be degel,” (” It’s near the flag”) says Jorge, who has a thicker Mexican accent than his father.

The rain picks up once again. On the way to the second green in the cart, Sharon has his left arm around Watkin. Sharon’s head rests on Watkin’s right shoulder.

“I love you,” Sharon tells Watkin (in Hebrew). “I joke with you and I’ve been hard on you but unde rstand I love you. Caddying is a thankless job. I could never be one.” Sharon repeatedly refers to Watkin as “Ach-ee,” Hebrew slang for “my brother.”

It’s a surreal image: three Jewish golfers of different ethnicities, o ne blind with a free-roaming guide clog. Sharon’s golf bag says “Caesarea Golf Club Israel.·· This scene would never have transpired on this course a few decades ago, not at a blue-blooded resort like this. Before he started playing golf, Sharon’s only opinion of golf was that it was for wea lth y elitists. Now he realizes golfe rs can be normal people.

“Maybe their kids are spoiled, but overall , the people I have met have been fantas tic,” he says.

Meanwhile, the sky darkens around the hilltops surrounding the course. After the seventh hole, Sharon acknowledges that the rain on this very unusual day will not let up. When asked if he’s pleased with his performance, he jokes, “I feel like c1y ing.” Sharon tries to persuade Jorge to be his caddy for another round of golf at the Bridges Country Club in Rancho Santa Fe .

“I would love to, but I have a business to run,” laments Jorge. “You are an extraordinary man Zohar.”

Perhaps Sam Silverstein best summarized the experience of witnessing Sharon golf. Silverstein, who organ izes nume rous golf to urnaments around Palm Springs, played with Sharon at the Canyon Country Club Tournament in Palm Springs two days after the Morgan Run tune-up.

Silverstein told the journal: “He swings better than I do, and I can see.”

For more on the Israel Guide Dog Center for the Blind, contact Helena Galper at (619) 435-8226.

Judd

Judd Handler is a freelance writer and wellness/lifestyle coach in Encinitas, California. He surfs uncrowded, fun reef breaks; plays instrumental alternate-tuning guitar; goes hiking in the backcountry; and is amazed on a daily basis by just being alive.